Chapter 232. So It Was a Dog; Thought It Was Sirius Black
By the time training ended, darkness had fully draped Hogwarts.
Because he wanted to get more familiar with the Firebolt, Harry was the last to leave the pitch.
Under the night sky, Harry walked alone back toward the castle, feeling a little sentimental: everything seemed to be moving in a good direction.
He hoped to get through this term in peace.
After all, his first and second years could hardly be called calm.
He felt as if he had always been standing at the very eye of the storm.
When he reached an open space, a cold wind blew; Harry pulled his robes tighter — the weather was getting colder.
Suddenly, a chill ran down his back.
"!?"
He whipped round at once.
In the pitch-black night, between the shrubs not far away, a pair of eyes glowing faintly was fixed on him.
Those eyes were bloodshot, yet unnaturally bright.
"Who's there?" Harry's voice quavered a little in the night wind.
There was no reply, only the rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze.
Harry edged backwards, his heart thudding in his chest.
Who would be here this late?
His mind began to race.
Then those eyes moved and started to draw nearer.
At last, Harry saw their owner clearly: a dog, pitch black from head to tail, large in build but all skin and bone, its matted fur knotted and filthy.
The only striking thing was those unnaturally bright eyes, staring straight at Harry.
"Phew—" Harry let out a breath of relief.
So it was a dog after all; he had thought it was Sirius Black.
But soon, he tensed again.
Why would there be a dog here?
He was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?
Other than Hagrid, he had never seen anyone else keep a dog at Hogwarts.
While Harry was still wondering, the black dog stopped a few paces away. It neither attacked nor ran.
It only stood there, head tilted slightly, as though sizing Harry up.
Harry, quick-eyed, noticed a deep gash on its foreleg, already scabbed over.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, squatting down almost without thinking.
But as soon as he spoke, he regretted it. How could a dog understand human speech?
Finally, the black dog moved again, slowly backing away until it vanished from Harry's sight.
Seeing this, Harry didn't think much more of it.
It was only a dog whose owner he didn't know, that was all.
He stood up and continued toward the castle.
The little episode didn't spoil his good mood.
However, he suddenly remembered the prediction Professor Trelawney had made for him in the first Divination class — that he would meet an ill omen: a black dog.
Of course, Harry didn't dwell on it. It was probably just a coincidence.
He didn't believe a single word that came out of Trelawney's mouth.
In the days that followed, Quidditch practices grew intense.
Harry trained at least three times a week.
To keep others guessing, most of the time Wood didn't let Harry use the Firebolt.
"You have to keep your Firebolt hidden so that, in the match, they won't be able to target you."
Harry was a little unconvinced. He felt that no matter what tricks others played, he could win on his own merit.
But… he was the captain.
In the end, Harry did as Wood said.
Another week passed.
In the morning, Wesson was receiving a special guest in his office.
"Wesson, you've made me put in quite a lot of effort to smooth this over," said Cornelius Fudge, looking helplessly at Wesson, who stood by the window. "Ever since you drove those Dementors away, I've been under constant pressure. Finding them cost me no small amount of time."
Just then, Wesson was preening Rai's feathers outside the window — Rai was so big now that, every time it wanted to come into Wesson's office, Wesson had to cast an Enlargement Charm on the window.
Hearing Fudge, Wesson patted Rai's head and watched it wing off toward the Forbidden Forest.
"I thought it would be a piece of cake for the Ministry to locate a few Dementors," Wesson said, turning and spreading his hands. "They are, after all, the principal guards of Azkaban."
Fudge gave a wry smile.
Under normal circumstances, the Ministry did have means to locate every Dementor.
Strangely, though, something had gone wrong with those Dementors Wesson had driven off the Hogwarts Express.
The Ministry suddenly couldn't sense where they were!
Luckily, they were sighted along the route the train had taken.
But when they were found, their condition was very odd.
Or rather… as though something had harmed them.
The Dementors were huddled deep in the shadows of the woods; instead of floating, they were pressed tight against the ground, as if hiding from something terrifying.
Their tattered robes were even more ragged than before, scorched-looking marks all over them.
Because of this, the Ministry used certain special methods to soothe them back to their previous state.
"The Dementors were on assignment, Wesson," Fudge said, adopting a stern expression. "If you have any objections, you can bring them to me — that would be the proper way to resolve things, wouldn't it? You must know that if you obstruct the Ministry's work, in serious cases that's a crime!"
"I warned those guards already, Minister," Wesson replied coolly. "If you've got complaints, take them to Dumbledore."
"Oh, I'm not complaining, of course," Fudge chuckled. "In fact, I've already spoken to Albus about it.
"I'm only here to remind you specially — don't do that again. You put me in a very awkward position. Next time I won't be able to help you."
Wesson sighed inwardly.
As expected, he still disliked Fudge.
Fudge had come to say only one thing — that, by driving away those Dementors, Wesson had obstructed the Ministry's work, and that Fudge had helped smooth over some ripples for him.
Heh. A politician's trick.
Impatience pricked at Wesson.
It had been the Ministry's fault to begin with. He had warned those two guards again and again not to enter the students' compartments.
Wesson suddenly had the urge to plant his fist in Fudge's smiling, pudgy face.
At that moment, Fudge rubbed his hands together, a fake, curious look on his face. "That reminds me, Professor Wesson — I'm awfully curious… how did you do it?"
"What?" Wesson looked puzzled.
"I mean," Fudge lowered his voice, "as I understand it, Dementors can scarcely be truly harmed. What did you do to them?"
"Only an ordinary Patronus Charm," Wesson said with a shrug.
"Really?"
Fudge looked dubious.
An ordinary Patronus Charm couldn't harm Dementors; it could only drive them off.
Had every Patronus he'd ever seen been a fake?
"Of course."
Wesson smiled, then picked up the textbook on his desk and issued the eviction order. "It's class time. Please see yourself out, Minister."
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